Patty and Azalea eBook

And then Patty would beg him to tell her more about
his early days and his wild Western life in the years
before she knew him.

It was her great regret that Bill had no parents,
nor indeed any near relatives. An only child,
and early orphaned, he had lived a few years with
a cousin and then had shifted for himself. A self-made
man,—­as they are styled,—­he
had developed fine business ability, and had also
managed to acquire a familiarity with the best in literature.
Patty was continually astonished by his ready references
and his quotations from the works of the best authors.

Indeed, the room he took the deepest interest in furnishing
in their new home was the library.

For the purpose he selected the largest room in the
house. It had been designed as a drawing-room
or ballroom; but Farnsworth said that its location
and outlook made it an ideal library. He had an
enormous window cut, that filled almost the whole
of one side of the room, and which looked out upon
a beautiful view, especially at sunset.

Then the furnishings were chosen for comfort and ease
as well as preserving the dignified effect that should
belong to a library. The book cases were filled
with the books already owned by the two and new ones
were chosen and bought by degrees as they were desired
or needed.

The reference portion was complete and the cases devoted
to poetry and essays well filled. Fiction, too,
of the lasting kind, and delightful books of travel,
biography and humour.

There were reading chairs, arranged near windows and
with handy tables; there were desks, perfectly appointed;
racks of new books and magazines; portfolios of pictures,
and cosy window seats and tete-a-tetes.

There were a few fine pictures, and many little intimate
sketches by worth-while pencils or brushes. And
there were treasured books, valuable intrinsically
or because of their inscriptions, that Farnsworth had
collected here and there.

Small wonder, then, that the library was the favourite
room in the house and that after dinner Patty proposed
they go there for their coffee.

“Some room!” ejaculated Chick Channing,
as they sauntered in and stood about, gazing at the
wealth of books.

“Glorious!” agreed Mona, who had a mere
pretence of a library in her own home. “I
didn’t know you were so literary, Patty.”

“Oh, I’m not. It’s Little Billee’s
gigantic intellect that planned this room, and he’s
the power that keeps it going. Every week he sends
up a cartload of new books—­”

“Oh, come, now, Patty,—­I haven’t
bought a book for a fortnight!” laughed Farnsworth.
“But I’ve just heard of a fine old edition
of Ike Walton that I can get at—­”

“There, there, my son, don’t get started
on your hobby,” implored Channing. “We’re
ignoramuses, Mona and I, and we want to talk about
less highbrow subjects.”

“Count me on your side,” said a smiling
girl, whose big gray eyes took on a look of awe at
the turn the conversation had taken. “I
don’t know if Ike Walton is a book or a steamboat!”